A Change of Worlds

Book 5 of the Killian Kendall Mysteries

By Josh Aterovis
Copyright 2026

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Chapter 24

I arrived at Professor Howard's at ten sharp the following morning. She lived in a relatively new development just outside of town, one of those planned communities with a pretentious-sounding name and huge homes set on generous lots. This one was ironically named Blue Heron Heights, despite the fact that there were no herons — or even a body of water — in sight. The lack of mature trees made the yards look oddly flat and empty despite the oversize houses.

The professor's home, an attractive two-story with attached garage, was one of the more modest dwellings on the street.

As I raised my hand to knock, the door swung open to reveal an attractive, trim, older woman with short, steel-gray hair, wearing a black pantsuit, a voluminous black scarf and an inscrutable expression. She stared at me over her half-glasses in a way that made me feel as if I were a student who had misbehaved in her class.

"Hello, I'm Killian Kendall. You must be Professor Howard."

She shook my hand cordially, although her smile was reserved. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Won't you come in?"

She led me into a formal living room where all the furniture was upholstered in a creamy woven fabric. Even the carpet was the same shade of off-white. She offered me a seat, and I perched gingerly on the edge of the cushion, afraid I'd smudge the fabric.

Professor Howard looked me over. "You're younger than I expected."

I smiled. "I hear that a lot."

"You don't look any older than the students I used to teach."

"I'm not. I just finished my freshman year at Pemberton."

She seemed flabbergasted. "And you're already a private investigator?"

"Yes, ma'am. I knew what I wanted to do and was fortunate enough to find someone willing to take me on as an apprentice."

"I'm impressed. Good for you."

"Thank you."

"Have you solved any cases I would know of?"

"Are you familiar with the Fenton Black case?"

Her eyes lit up. "That was you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well! Now I'm even more impressed. And you're investigating Quinn's death?"

"Yes. As I said last night on the phone, I was initially hired to look into the looting. Now it seems as if the thefts, Professor Healy's murder, and the death of one of his students over the weekend may be connected."

She raised a hand to her mouth. "Someone else died?"

"You hadn’t heard? I'm sorry. I just assumed..."

"I've been in Chicago speaking at a conference. It ended yesterday, and I didn't get home until last evening just before I returned your call. The only reason I even knew Quinn had been killed was because a colleague called to tell me. I haven't heard any news since I spoke to the police last week. Who died?"

"Her name was Bridget Foxwell. She was one of Professor Healy's students and a volunteer for the excavation. It appears she was killed while checking on the site for Dr. Pike."

Professor Howard shook her head. "Foxwell? I didn't know her. How did it happen?"

"She was shot."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she reopened them, sadness clouded her expression. "This is terrible. I'll do whatever I can to help you. What do you need to know?"

"What can you tell me about Professor Healy?"

"Quinn was a brilliant archaeologist, highly respected in our field. He could have picked practically any university in the country at which to teach, but he chose Pemberton because he grew up in this area and was fascinated with the local tribes."

"How did you meet him?"

"He was my student, then later my assistant. We became friends, and eventually he grew to be like a son to my husband and me. He helped us move into this house a couple of years ago, then stayed with me when my husband died suddenly a month later. I don’t think I could have gotten through that difficult time without him."

I couldn't help noticing how her experience with Healy differed from that of almost everyone else to whom I'd spoken.

As if reading my thoughts, she said, "Many people didn't get along with Quinn. He had a rather prickly personality and was very much a perfectionist. He could be quite blunt and even a little arrogant at times, but he was a good person."

"Did he confide in you?"

"Sometimes. He wasn't close to his parents, so I was sort of a surrogate mother figure."

"Did he ever mention the looting?"

"We spoke about it a few times, yes. In fact, he called me in Chicago the day before he was murdered. He was very perturbed that something like that was happening right under his nose. He took it quite personally."

"Did he suspect anyone in particular?"

"He didn’t mention anyone by name."

"But he did have an idea?"

"He seemed to think it was someone on his crew."

"Do you remember any comment he might have made that would give us an indication of who he suspected?"

She thought for a moment, then shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry. He didn't say anything specific. He was just venting his frustration."

"Have you met the members of his crew?"

"I know Dr. Pike, but none of the students. It's been several years since I actually had anything to do with the university."

"What can you tell me about Dr. Pike?"

"Elyse is a competent archaeologist, maybe even an excellent one, but she was overshadowed by Quinn's personality. She seemed very loyal to him, although I could never tell just how ambitious she was. It's relatively rare for women to reach positions of authority in our field, and when they do, it's difficult to get our male colleagues to take us seriously. Archaeology is still very much an old boys' club. If I were in her place, I imagine I would have felt as if Quinn was holding me back. So far as I know, however, she never showed any indication of such an attitude. Either way, I think she'll blossom now that she's out of his shadow."

"So you think she'll be offered Professor Healy's position at the college?"

"I think it's a safe bet. She's paid her dues working under Quinn for years. It would be quite a scandal if they brought in someone from another school. They'd have to have some concrete reasons not to promote Elyse."

"What about the other crew members? May I read you their names and see if you recognize any of them?"

"Feel free, but I can't promise anything."

I read off the list. The only one even vaguely familiar to her was Susan Urban.

"I've heard Quinn speak of her. She was a particularly promising graduate student, I believe. He hadn't mentioned her recently, though."

With that, I was pretty much out of questions. I thanked her for her time and told her to call me if she thought of anything else. I left feeling somewhat disappointed that I'd learned so little. Sure, she'd said that Healy suspected one of his crew, but so did I. And it was just a suspicion. Hardly earth shattering information. Without a name or specific information, it didn't move me farther along in my investigation at all.

Since it was still fairly early, I decided to interview the council members. At least the day wouldn't be a total waste. I entered the first address into my GPS and set off to speak with Hollis Landon.

The tribe's chief lived well out in the country on a sprawling farm, the centerpiece of which was a well-maintained nineteenth-century farmhouse. Mrs. Landon answered my knock and told me her husband was "in the big barn out back."

Accompanied by their affable, overweight black Lab, I walked toward the hulking white structure, where I found Mr. Landon standing on a ladder working on the motor of an enormous tractor.

When he saw me, his face creased into a smile. "Killian, it's good to see you. How's the investigation going?"

"Actually, Mr. Landon, that's why I'm here."

"None of that Mr. Landon stuff. Call me Hollis. And what can I do for you?"

"I was hoping you'd have a few minutes to talk to me. I won't take up too much of your time."

He chuckled. "Take up as much as you want." He gestured towards the tractor. "That thing's not going anywhere."

He climbed down and wiped his hands on a rag he pulled from his back pocket. From the looks of the rag, it was probably adding more dirt than it was removing.

"I appreciate your help," I said.

"Anything to get to the bottom of this nasty mess. Have you heard any more about the girl that was killed out there over the weekend?"

"No, I haven't."

"That was a real shame. She was so young." He shook his head sadly. "Now then, what did you need to talk to me about?"

"Do you have any idea who could be behind all this?"

"You know, I've been thinking about it a lot, and I can't come up with a single person who would kill someone like that. It just doesn't make sense."

"People kill for a lot of reasons, few of which make sense to other people. Leaving out the whole killing aspect for a minute, do you know anyone who would benefit from sabotaging the excavation?"

"Is that what you believe was behind the looting?"

"I don't know yet, but it's one possibility."

While he turned the idea over, he rubbed his chin, leaving a black smudge behind. "I just have no idea," he finally admitted.

"I've heard some of the tribe members were against allowing the excavation."

"Well now, that's true, but I honestly can't see any of them going to such an extreme."

"Was there any one person leading the opposition?"

"I'm pretty sure it wasn't that organized. Whatever the case, the most outspoken was definitely Gordon Wallace. Again, as insufferable as he can be, I seriously doubt he would ever resort to violence."

"Do you think he'd be capable of sabotage?"

"You mean, stealing the artifacts in order to close down the project? I suppose I could see him doing that if he convinced himself it was for the good of the tribe. I just can't see him killing someone in cold blood, though."

"If he was the one stealing the artifacts and Healy caught him in the act, he might have panicked."

"That would explain the stabbing, but not the shooting."

"Is there anyone else you can think of that might have something to do with all this?"

"The police seem to suspect Jacy Elliott. For the record, I think that's utter garbage."

"I agree, which is why it's all the more important that I uncover the real identity of the killer."

"I hope to God we're right. I think it would kill Fletcher if Jacy did have anything to do with it."

"I'm pretty certain we're safe there. I only hope I can find the killer before Jacy gets railroaded."

"I'm sorry I wasn't more help."

"That's okay. To be honest, I really don't think either the looting or the murders are directly connected to the tribe. I'm just trying to cover all the bases."

He smiled. "It's good to see such thoroughness."

"I'd like to interview the other council members as well. When do you think would be the best time to catch them?"

"Celia, that's Miss Vessey, you can most likely catch at home anytime. She doesn't leave the house much except to attend church and to get her hair done on Tuesdays. Are schools out yet?"

I nodded.

"Then Eldora will probably be at home as well. Lord knows, she never goes anywhere. You'd most likely catch Gordon at his office. He's there more than he's home."

"I don't even know where he works."

"He's a city employee in the Public Works Department. Do you know where the Government Office Building is downtown?"

"Yes, I do. You've been a big help. Thank you, Mr... I mean, Hollis."

He grinned. "No, thank you, Killian. You're doing a fine job. I think we made the right decision when we hired you."

"I appreciate your faith in me. Let's hope it's well-founded."

"Oh, I have a feeling it is." He shook my hand, leaving me with a greasy palm.

I drove to Miss Vessey's next since she lived closest to the Landons. Her house turned out to be a small bungalow set on a neat, well-tended lawn that was more flower garden than grass.

As I was climbing out of my car, her front door swung open and a young man around my age stepped out. He was wearing a pair of skimpy running shorts and a form-fitting tank-top that showed off much of his darkly tanned body to its best effect. He stopped in his tracks when he noticed me, and unhurriedly looked me over, raking his eyes from my head to my feet, then back to my face. He must have liked what he saw, for his lips curved up in a predatory smile.

"Hello," he said. "I was just about to go for a run. Can I help you with anything?" His tone implied that there were several things he'd like to help me with, none of which were mentionable in polite conversation.

"My name is Killian Kendall. I'm looking for Miss Celia Vessey," I responded in my most professional manner.

"Granny Vessey? She's around back working in her garden." He tipped his head to one side and gave me what he obviously thought was a seductive smile. "Are you sure there's nothing I can help you with?"

"You already have. Is it alright if I just walk around to the backyard?"

Frustration briefly flashed through his eyes before he nodded. "Sure. Would you like me to show you?"

I was pretty sure I could find Miss Vessey on my own. However, it was obvious I wasn't going to lose this guy quite that easily, so I agreed.

He grinned and, with a gesture indicating I should follow him, started towards the backyard. I followed his pert bubble-butt, which he was swishing so hard I was a little worried he might dislocate something. He led me around the house and across the yard toward a large vegetable garden. Miss Vessey was sitting on a low stool with her back to us, bent over a small plant.

"Granny," the boy called out. "Someone's here to see you."

Miss Vessey sat up and looked over her shoulder. "Killian," she greeted me warmly.

"Hello, Miss Vessey. How are you today?"

"I'm wonderful, thank you. I'm never happier than when I have my hands in the dirt. Makes me feel connected to the Earth. I see you met my grandson, Skye." She threw him a meaningful glance. "Thanks for showing Killian back, Skye."

"My pleasure," he said with a brilliant smile in my direction. Miss Vessey had clearly dismissed him, but he wasn't quite ready to give up yet. "Is there anything I can get for you before I leave?" He seemed to be directing the question to his grandmother, but his eyes never left me.

"We're fine," Miss Vessey said firmly. "You go ahead and take your run so Killian and I can talk."

His face clearly showed his disappointment, but he slowly backed away, then turned and jogged off.

Miss Vessey watched after Skye with a mixture of amusement and annoyance on her face. She shook her head. "I don't know what to do with that boy. He's a bit of a wild one. He asked to live with me this summer because he said he didn't want to move back in with his parents after a year away at college. I think he really believed I'd be more lenient. If so, he's been sadly disappointed." She chuckled. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

"I had a few questions for you concerning the case."

She nodded once. "I thought that might be it. I hope you'll excuse me if I don't get up. It's easier to just stay down once I'm here." She smiled and winked.

I grinned at her. "You're fine."

"Sure, laugh at me now, but just wait until you're my age!" She cackled. "So what questions do you have to ask me? Wait, first crouch down here so I don't have to break my neck looking at you."

I squatted next to her. "I'm talking to everyone on the council. I just came from seeing Mr. Landon. I was hoping you'd have some ideas about who might be behind the looting."

Her expression became quite serious. "And the murders?"

"Well, yes."

She pursed her lips thoughtfully. After a few moments, she shook her head. "I really don't. I wish I could help you, but I can't think of a soul. If it had stopped at the looting, I might have suspected Gordon Wallace, but as much as I dislike the man, I can't see him killing someone."

"That's pretty much what Fletcher and Mr. Landon said as well. What about others in the tribe? Would any of them want to stop the project enough to resort to sabotage? It's possible the murders and the looting are unconnected."

"Possible, but not likely, I'd say. Besides Gordon and a few of his cronies, no one really cared enough about it one way or the other to even show up for the meetings when we discussed it. This is just my opinion, of course, and I'm no seer, but I don't think you'll find an Indian behind this."

"What makes you say that? Anything specific?"

She gave me a small smile. "No, just call it the gut feeling of a crazy old lady."

"I don't think you're crazy at all. We have to rely on intuition quite a bit in my line of work. To be honest, I have a hunch you're right. I'm just talking to everyone to be sure I've covered all the bases."

"Sounds like a good policy. I wish I could have been more helpful."

"You were very helpful."

She swatted at me playfully. "Don't lie. It's unbecoming for a handsome young man like you."

"Now, now, Miss Vessey, flattery will get you anywhere."

She laughed. "Killian, if I were a few decades younger, I'd be drooling over you like my fool grandson. Now get going before I decide I'm not too old after all."

Before I left for my next interview, my stomach reminded me that it was almost lunchtime. However, I decided to wait until after I'd seen Eldora Little. She lived in one of the many tiny hamlets that dot the Eastern Shore, hardly more than a collection of houses. It didn't even rate its own zip code.

A timid voice called from behind the closed door in response to my knock: "Who is it?"

"Killian Kendall, Miss Little."

"Who?"

"Killian Kendall, the investigator the council hired." I felt a bit silly yelling for the whole neighborhood to hear, but what could I do?

I heard several lock bolts slide back. A few seconds later, the door opened to the limit of a safety chain so Eldora could peer out at me. Seeing I was who I claimed to be, she allowed me to step inside.

I made it as far as her entryway, and that was it. Our conversation was brief and fruitless. The same questions I'd asked Hollis Landon and Celia Vessey, and the same responses. She knew nothing, didn't listen to gossip, and had no idea who could do such a terrible thing. The most interesting part of the conversation came when I asked about Gordon Wallace and she flushed a fetching shade of crimson. It was clear Eldora had a crush on the loathsome Wallace, but if she knew anything else, she hid it well. I wondered how she survived as a teacher, since she seemed like someone who could be bullied by a kindergartener.

On my way back into town, I stopped at a fast-food restaurant and grabbed some lunch. Then I drove to the Government Office Building, where the pleasant young receptionist in the Department of Public Works greeted me cheerfully. "Hi. May I help you?"

"Yes, I'd like to speak to Mr. Wallace, please."

"Is he expecting you?"

"No, I didn't make an appointment."

"I'll check and see if he's available. And your name?"

"Killian Kendall."

She picked up the phone and hit a series of numbers, then announced to Wallace that I was there to see him. She hung up and gave me a bright smile. "He'll be right out."

Sure enough, less than a minute later, a door off to one side opened and Wallace stood there glaring at me. He didn't seem as happy to see me as the receptionist had been. He jerked his head over his shoulder and growled an unwelcoming, "Come on."

I followed him through a maze of cubicles until we reached his. A computer sat on a smallish desk with a single swivel chair behind it. There was only one more place to sit, a piece of uncomfortable-looking, molded-plastic furniture. Wallace took the desk chair without offering me the other one. I sat down anyway.

"I only have a few minutes. If this is about the excavation, I don't know what I can tell you, except that I wasn't in favor of it."

"That was my understanding. Can you tell me why you were so against it?"

"I feel it's wrong to allow a bunch of white folks who have no respect for our culture to go digging through our ancestors' graves."

"Even if it means you could learn more about your ancestors?"

"What's there to learn from a few bones?"

"Quite a bit, actually. A skilled archeologist can figure out what their lives were like—"

"What difference does that make today? I say just let them rest in peace."

"Mr. Wallace, do you have any idea who could have been looting the site?"

"I have no clue. I wish I did know who it was. It makes me sick to think of someone stealing our history. I'd like a few minutes alone with him, if you know what I mean." He smiled nastily, a malicious glint in his eyes.

I had a feeling I did know what he meant, and I didn't like it. "Did you ever meet Professor Healy?"

"Unfortunately. He attended a meeting when we were discussing whether or not to allow him to dig."

"And that was the only time?"

"Yeah."

"You never visited the site?"

"Absolutely not. I had no desire to see that desecration."

The interview was going nowhere fast. I decided to try a few more questions, though if he kept up his antagonistic attitude, I'd have to give up.

"There is some suspicion that the looter might be someone from the tribe trying to sabotage the excavation. Do you have any theories about that?"

"If you're referring to Lily Snyder's patently ridiculous accusation against me—"

"I just meant in general."

"Nobody from the tribe would stoop so low as to steal from our ancestors' graves. No self-respecting Native American would do that. As much as I hate to admit it, I don't even think Jacy Elliott would be capable of such a thing."

For once, I actually agreed with him. "Well, if you think of anything that might be helpful, I'd appreciate it if you'd give me a call."

"The sooner it's all over, the better, as far as I'm concerned. The only good thing to come out of this mess is that at least we'll finally close down the excavation."

I wasn't so sure, but I wasn't about to contradict him.

I returned to the office and wrote up my notes from the day's interviews. Novak wasn't around, and I was uninterrupted as I worked, so it didn't take long. I sighed in frustration. As far as I could tell, the only useful bit of information I'd discovered was that Healy suspected someone from his crew, but I didn't know why or whom.

I pushed my notes aside and started packing the contents of my desk into boxes so when the furniture for my new office arrived, I could move in right away. As I was finishing up, my phone rang.

"Hey, Killian." It was Jacy.

"Hey. What's up?"

"I just wanted to check in with you about the stakeout last night. I would have called earlier, but I had to work."

In all the excitement of Mom's visit and the surprise party, I'd completely forgotten about our agreement to watch the site.

"Right. How'd it go?" I hoped I was smooth enough to cover my forgetfulness.

"It was quiet. I didn't see anything. I fell asleep around two or three in the morning, but nothing had happened up to then."

"Great, so it's my turn tonight."

"Yeah. I didn't expect it to be that boring. I hope your night is more exciting than mine was."

I laughed. "Isn't that a curse of some sort? May your life always be exciting?"

"Could be, but if it stays boring, we'll never find out the identity of the looter."

"True. A little excitement might be okay, just not too much."

He laughed. "Good luck."

"Thanks."

I finished up what I was doing and decided to head back to the B&B to change and grab some dinner. I hung around there until it was almost dark, then drove over to Fletcher's house. After checking in to let them know I was leaving my car in their driveway, I set out through the trees. By then, I'd traveled between the house and the clearing so many times I could find my way easily. If I got lost, all I had to do was open myself up to the emotions of the forest, and the seething anger would draw me towards the site.

I made it to the edge of the clearing and chose a place amidst heavy brush to settle in for my watch. It wasn't long before the cool dampness of the earth started creeping through my bottom. I shifted position as quietly as I could. As darkness fell and the temperature dropped, I found myself not only bored out of my skull, but also chilly and rather miserable.

Should have worn warmer clothes, I berated myself.

I noticed that the usual nighttime forest sounds were largely absent. It was almost completely silent. This unnerved me even more than being alone in the middle of the woods in the dark. To make matters worse, the spirits were restless and angry.

Apparently, after my talk with White Deer, I was no longer the target of their scrutiny, but that didn't mean their presence didn't affect me.

As the night wore on, I grew more and more unsettled. I found myself checking my phone every few minutes, which only made the time drag that much more. I was just about ready to throw in the towel and beat a hasty retreat when I heard a twig snap somewhere nearby.

I froze, my heart pounding. I suddenly wished I'd remembered to bring some sort of weapon — pepper spray, a baseball bat, anything. At that moment, I would have settled for a gun.

I strained my eyes in the direction I thought the sound had come from, hoping to glimpse a deer or some other harmless forest creature. For a few agonizing moments, there was nothing but darkness.

Then the moon slid out from behind a bank of clouds, spilling silvery light over the clearing to reveal a furtive human figure at the edge of the tree-line.

Something about the image reminded me of the nightmare I'd had a few days before, and my breath caught in my throat. Was the dream about to come true?

Things had suddenly become a lot more interesting.

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